Panic and Trauma

It had missed her.

The blue light that seemed to be intent on her destruction had missed her by an inch and hit the wall across from her. If she didn't speak up soon, she would be dead.

"Who the fuck is it?" He yelled into the hall, panicking. Hermione's heart was going a thousand miles per minute. She cleared her throat quietly, attempting to push down the lump that had formed.

"It's Hermione." She said quietly and waited. No sounds were made besides his harsh, unsteady breathing and the pounding of her own heart in her ears. Time dragged on as they both waited for the other to make a move, but nothing happened. By this point, her hands were shaking. Her Gryffindor characteristics got the better of her and she took a step out; he was gone. The door to the potions classroom was opened, the only indication of where he was.

And suddenly, crashes were being sound.

She didn't know why she had to do something, all she knew was she had to do it. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and she bolted to the classroom. Her wand was pulled out in a flash and she was suddenly throwing curses back at Draco.

He tumbled to the floor and a sob found its way into the air. She had disarmed him, then sent him to the ground to be wrapped up in the vines she conjured. She didn't really mean to hurt him, but maybe she had hurt him.

His face held an expression of agony and he seemed like he couldn't breathe.

"Why are you here?" He yelled at the girl who seemed almost as shaken as he felt, struggling in the grip of the vines. His cries filled the room and his head was pounding. Memories of the muggle-born victims of torture started to fill his vision. "Why are you always here? Leave me alone!"

Suddenly, he felt as though he was reliving the moments of torture over and over again. Both his aunt's laughs and the screams of Penelope Clearwater's mother filled his mind, tormenting his already shaken mental state. His anxiety brought on feelings of blindness as he gripped at the vines and floor of the classroom. He was hurt on his right arm by whatever curse Granger had thrown at him, he knew this – he could feel the blood seeping through his robes – and he didn't know whether or not to loathe her actions or thank her. He was torn.

On one hand, he needed this release. He needed to feel the searing pain and the somehow sharp stabs the air made towards his opened wound. He needed his built up anxiety to leak out of him. He needed the hallucinations and atrocious memories to go away. He had always wanted this release, but he knew he would never have the courage to pick up a knife and defile his own flesh and blood. He never had the courage to do anything.

On the other hand, he felt violated. His body was on high alert and he was completely disabled with another thing to worry about. He could feel his heart pounding in his neck, the bile rising into his throat, and his chest heaving to keep it down. He could hear the ringing in his ears and the breathing of Granger, accompanied by his own. He could hear all of his thoughts and see the torture and feel the pain and it was all too much. He couldn't regain control of his body. The vines were restricting. He couldn't do anything. He was out of control. He needed to control his fucking body. He couldn't breathe.

Hermione looked at him shaking on the floor and she became more terrified than if she were blasted by his expulso curse. She realized what was happening.

He was having a panic attack. Sweat covered his forehead, he couldn't seem to get his breathing right, and his shaking was non-stop. He was dry heaving as though he was about to throw up and the adrenaline that sparked in Hermione just a moment ago came rushing back. She needed to know what to do.

And she did know what to do. After the death of Sirius Black, Hermione had kept an eye on her best friend. Harry frequently dealt with flashbacks and nightmares that ended in full-blown anxiety attacks, and she found ways to help him cope. She knew what to do. In panicked situations, she was the one who could be trusted to take charge. Then why was she still not moving?

The reality of the situation slapped her in the face and suddenly, she was moving. With a struggling Draco on the floor, she quickly rehearsed charms to repair the damage done to the class and went to Draco's side. He was nearly convulsing, eyes closed shut with force. Her attention was brought to his arm where she had begun to see blood soaking and staining his robes. She had hurt him. Her heart began to race as she begun to pull off his robes.

His robes. His arm. His mark.

Draco snatched onto her wrist, pushing it away from him with incredible force.

"Don't fucking touch me, Granger." He sneered, eyes still closed and more panic raising the pressure of his blood. "I'm telling you to never fucking touch me you filthy-

"Draco, I need to!" The words hardly came out of her and she felt her own worry beginning to hack away at her mental state. Her eyes began to burn. His hand still held her away. She shook her head, panicking. "Draco, please! I need to help you!"

Why did everyone feel the need to help him? He shook his head, biting down on his inner cheeks. The pain was constant, invading his body. He needed it gone, but her grabbing at his robes only caused more panic. What if she were to see the mark? What would happen?

There was a sharp pain in his right arm that shot through to his shoulder and he screamed out in pain.

"Draco!" By this point, Hermione had resorted to begging him, tears threatening to escape her reddening eyes. She couldn't bear to feel responsible for this kind of pain. She couldn't bear to see Draco in such humanly states so consistently. She needed to hate him, but hate wasn't an emotion she felt for him anymore. Not since that day she saw him an inch away from death. Not since today. She couldn't. She could only feel worried. She could only feel sorrow. She could only feel panic. She could not feel hate towards the boy that was so exposed and vulnerable in front of her right now.

Draco quickly nodded his head and she removed his robes until he was just in his white button down shirt and his black dress pants. The blood was a dark shade of crimson and she realized this must have been the direct location where the curse hit him. She must have not aimed properly in the spur of the moment or else this would not have happened in the first place.

She began to unbutton his shirt and removed just the side that needed to be tended to in order to keep him as comfortable as possible – especially in the mental state that he was in at this particular moment. Looking at the gash, her mind began to race from spell to spell, trying to figure out what she could do for something that looked this large and deep. Her mind only came to one conclusion, and she knew it could potentially be dark magic. She knew she could be expelled. She knew that this spell must've not been taught to students for a reason.

A counter-curse she had read about in that bloody Half-Blood Prince book. All the description said was that it healed large wounds, particularly ones that were given through the use of the Sectumsempra spell. She didn't even truly know if it would work on the injury she had given the Slytherin boy.

A hiss sounded from Draco due to the cold air hitting the wound and she made her decision.

"Vulnera Sanentur." She quietly said, her hand rubbing his upper arm near the area where he had been hit. Any blood that had covered his arm began to draw back into the wound that was closing at an alarming speed. In a moment's time, he had looked as though he hadn't even been hit in the first place.

But he was still shaking. His breathing was still restricted and erratic, and he looked sickly. His eyes were still closed.

And Hermione was still panicked. She couldn't help herself.

Her hands went to the sides of his face and he recoiled from her touch. Her eyebrows only furrowed in response. "Draco, open your eyes. Look at me." His mouth formed into a frown and he shook his head furiously.

"I fucking can't!" Draco cried out, images still flashing in his mind. "I need to calm myself down!"

Hermione's soothing voice sounded again, "And you will, Draco. Just look at me."

Something about her voice pushed the images away, if only for a moment. And suddenly, he trusted her. His eyes opened to gain a full view of the bold maple-brown eyes that had haunted his dreams so many times. She let go of his face but maintained the eye contact. Her mouth was forming words his ears just couldn't catch and suddenly, he felt something very cold in one of his hands.

He looked down to see she had conjured up a cube of ice and placed it in his hand.

"Wait for it to melt, Draco." She soothed, contrasting against his ragged breathing. The vines retreated and, once again, he trusted her. He focused all of his attention towards the ice cube, willing for it to melt, and his mind began to clear – as if all of the images of torture allowed themselves to be sucked out of him through his hand and into the melting ice cube. He looked up in amazement at the witch, who seemed to have soothed away his traumatic recollections with something as simple as a cube of ice.

Their eyes collided for a second time and all he could feel was relief. Relief that the memories were over and that the pain had completely healed. Relief from his stress; stress that only someone as simple yet completely complex as Granger could alleviate. Relief that Granger was… Granger.

Granger.

The existence of the situation that had just occurred came crashing down on Draco. She had been stalking him, clearly. Her presence was what caused him to snap. Her presence was what triggered all of those horrendous flashbacks of the mudbloods being ripped apart, because she was a mudblood.

He shoved her away, refusing to speak to her. He couldn't get words out. He wanted to scream at her for even looking his way. She could have let him be, she could have let him suffered through this attack like he does all the time. He wouldn't have been thrown to the floor and bleeding profusely if it wasn't for her. He knew how to handle himself. Why the fuck did everyone think he needed all their fucking help all of a sudden?

Hermione was speechless, as well. She looked wildly at the boy who had just pushed her down after she had done all she had in her power to help him. His eyes shot at her in warning and he got up, breathing heavily again, but in a more controlled manner. He wasn't anxious – no, he was angry at her!

He gathered his bloodied robes and towered over her. A sneer graced his features and she honestly could not believe how he was reacting.

"Don't you ever fucking think I owe you. I despise you." He spat, looking disgusted at the girl on the floor covered in his blood. His blood that she could never be worthy of. He turned to leave and was stopped by words that seemed unfit for the mouth they were coming out of.

"Fuck you too, Malfoy."

And he left her in a bloodied heap on the floor. Suddenly, she remembered why she had hated him all of those years.

"Why is it, when something happens, it is always you three?" The wise voice of Minerva McGonagall filled the office as Hermione and her two friends stood in front of her.

It was November, Hermione recalled as she looked out of one of the few windows in Minerva's office. Snow fell in heavy flurries as they usually do with the first snowfall in Scotland, and the mountainous landscape was covered in white blankets, making for a lovely sight.

But she didn't feel lovely.

No, she felt positively ghastly. After her encounter with Malfoy, she felt herself avoiding him at every corner of the school. She began planning her days and using certain halls to avoid seeing him in between classes, and avoided lower levels and paths leading to the dungeons in general. The only time they had an opportunity to see each other was during meals and Hermione did all she could in order to restrict her vision. She even made sure to rush to lunch and dinner in order to ensure she had a spot in which she wouldn't have to face Malfoy.

Except once.

Only once had she locked eyes with Malfoy after being held up by a professor, congratulating her on her academic achievements in reference to a recent essay about the history and future of Goblin rights. When she got to the Great Hall, Harry and Ron had saved her a seat that was facing the Slytherin table. Looking up from her food, she couldn't stop her eyes from dwindling in areas she usually wouldn't permit and he was already watching her. When they locked eyes, she suddenly felt inferior. He looked completely numb. Emotionless. As if nothing at all had happened between the two in the past few weeks. She would rather him looking as though he wanted to kill her.

And then he looked away, making her feelings of insignificance just that much more real. She didn't know why it hurt her, but after that, she found her concentration beginning thin and sleep became her new best friend. Everything felt off.

Even when she wasn't thinking about Malfoy, everything was off. Lavender was constantly attached to Ron's arm, hindering conversation that the trio would have had otherwise and making both Hermione and Harry feel like a third wheel. And, in other times, Ron had felt like the third wheel. Hermione and Harry were both going through similar emotional journeys at the moment and found refuge in each other. They often whispered and shared jokes together, and Ron had woken up in the middle of the night to Hermione and Harry playing card games on the boys' shared dorm floor. And sometimes, he had woken up to find Harry's bed empty. Though he now had a girlfriend, he couldn't help but feel betrayed by the two. He didn't know what was going on, but just because he had other people to tend to didn't mean he suddenly wanted to be phased out. He started having nightmares about the two spending nights together, as well; and suddenly, the entire golden trio was sleepless and emotionally fatigued.

Nothing was going on between Harry and Hermione, though. They realized after two days of Lavender's constant appearances that they couldn't discuss anything Order-related during the daylight hours. Harry had many concerns, and they focused on deciphering all of Harry's Voldemort related nightmares and Dumbledore's needs to get Harry closer to Slughorn. If not to gain some progress on the matter, then to think about anything other than their bruised hearts.

And then Harry started bringing up Malfoy into conversation again. Hermione didn't know how to respond. She allowed him to vent, but constantly felt overwhelming guilt rise within her whenever his name was brought into conversation. She had an internal battle within her. No matter how sour Draco may act towards her, he had allowed her to see him in broken down, vulnerable states, and she felt her Gryffindor loyalty disallowing her from using his secrets against him. Secrets that he clearly had trusted her with, despite his anger towards her, otherwise he probably would have at least harassed her by now. Or gotten Snape on her back, at least.

But neither had happened and she stayed loyal to the mentally agitated boy, who needed to be shown humanity by anyone who could do so at the moment. Something had happened to him over the summer and into the school year, and whatever it was, it had damaged him. And no matter how deep his words may cut into her already-there wounds, her empathy would always outshine her need for revenge.

But at this moment of time, she started to wonder whether or not she had made the right choice.

For the first time in a long time, the golden trio had been alone on a Saturday and decided to celebrate by going to Hogsmeade and having a bit of Butterbeer. Though Hermione was hardly a drinker, she decided to attend anyways, being happy with Lavender's absence. They left The Three Broomsticks only a minute after Leanne and Katie, and ended up witnessing Katie being possessed and, with the help of Hagrid, rushing her and the opal necklace to the infirmary and Professor McGonagall.

She wondered if she had made the right choice because suddenly, Severus Snape was walking into the room and examining the necklace. Her breathing hitched, and the words, "It was Malfoy," was heard coming out of Harry's mouth. By this moment, Hermione had forgotten how to breathe. Her eyes shot to Snape who quickly started defending the boy and telling Harry how incredulous of an accusation that was. And just how serious it was.

And Hermione agreed, curiously. Harry did not know that this was Malfoy's doing, but the confidence he had in the words brought her hands to start shaking. What if it was Malfoy? Could Harry know something that Hermione doesn't? Hermione certainly knew things that she had kept away from Harry, and although it was unlike Harry to keep things from his female best friend, she also knew it was unlike her to keep things from Harry, too. Her guilty conscience had begun to make it's return.

They were dismissed, and as soon as they left the room, Lavender Brown had jumped at Ron, kissing his face all over.

"Won-won!" She squeaked, wrapping her arms around the red-head's neck, "I heard about you saving Katie and I can't believe you would put yourself in such danger! Are you hurt? How did you do it?" Surely enough, she had dragged him down the hall and out of earshot, clinging to his form.

And then there were two.

Hermione looked at Harry, worried. "Harry, what did you mean about Malfoy?" She whispered, keeping her voice low in case of any peeping passer-byers. Harry looked at her seriously, then looked around. Yes, it was a busy hall due to the fact that word of Katie Bell and the cursed necklace had clearly spread around and younger years had come to observe whatever they could.

He gave her a look then said, "Come with me. We can't discuss this here."

So, the two left to the Gryffindor tower and went to his room. Interestingly enough, Hermione recalled, guys couldn't sneak into girls' rooms because of the fact that the stairs would transform into a slide as soon as they stepped foot on the staircase, but girls could easily walk into guys' rooms. Something about trustworthiness.

He closed the door behind him and used magic to ignite the small fireplace they had in their dorm due to the cold of the blizzard-like November day. They settled on opposite ends of his bed, Hermione sitting crossed legged, looking at her best friend who was seated near his pillows, looking down at his hands. After some time, he finally spoke.

"I've been watching him, Hermione." She felt her legs weaken and knew if she had been standing at the time she would have felt herself collapse. Does this mean that he's been watching her, too? She had recently been finding herself by Draco's side on multiple occasions. But how much could he know? She let him speak more before jumping to conclusions. He looked at her, and when she hadn't given a response for some time, he sighed and carried on, "I don't know what it is, but he's been acting differently. Haven't you noticed anything? He hasn't bugged you yet this year."

She wished she could have said no, but she knew that would only blow her cover quicker. She was supposed to be receptive. Harry knew that.

"Yeah, I mean, I guess." Hermione muttered, shrugging her shoulders.

"Isn't that at all weird?"

"Well, maybe he's grown a little, Harry. I'm actually a quite pleased with it."

"Grown? Hermione, this is Malfoy we're talking about. I hardly think he's grown."

Once again, Hermione found herself shrugging her shoulders. Harry took off his glasses to clean them on his robes, all the while looking at Hermione skeptically. His eyes really were a radiant shade of green.

"He's just been acting and looking strange. He looks like a walking dead man." Hermione couldn't help but grimace. There's one thing she can agree with – Draco looked awful. She nodded her head and Harry returned his glasses to their rightful place. "I just… Keep an eye out for him, too, okay? Watch his moves. I don't know what it is, but I just have this feeling."

"Alright, Harry." She nodded, smiling at the boy and willing for him to change the topic. She went for the boy's hand, holding his still cold fingers in between her own, "So… How are you holding up?"

Harry's mouth formed into a tight line and that was enough of an answer for Hermione. She sighed.

"Why does it have to be so difficult?"

"I don't know, Hermione." He looked down at their hands and yawned, clearly tired from an action filled Saturday. And then he looked up at her with that same honest smile she had seen so many times before, "Whoever you choose would be lucky to have you."

The door burst open and in came Ron, looking between the two as if they had committed a crime together.

"What's this?" He said, glaring at his two best friends. Hermione raised her eyebrows in amusement at her freckled friend and Harry let go of her hands as not to provoke further inquiry. A scoff was heard coming from Hermione's mouth.

"Honestly, Ron, you can't possibly think that Harry and I-

"Yes, I bloody well can!" Ron stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him. His face was flushed and his mouth was formed in an angry pout. Harry sighed.

"Ron-

"Don't you 'Ron' me! I can tell what's been going on here, don't think I haven't!" His hands were tight fists at his side as he stalked towards them, "The sneaking around, meeting each other in the middle of the night-

"You can't be serious!"

"Hermione, of course I'm serious! You guys can't actually think that I haven't seen the way you act with each other! As if you're an old married couple!" It was Harry's turn to pipe in.

"Ron, it's never been like that. We're friends." Harry looked to Hermione, both of them nodding their heads.

"No, we're friends. We're all supposed to be friends! And from what I can see, your definition of friends seems a lot more like-

"What the hell do you care, Ron?" Hermione cut him off, unable to take more of his unintelligible accusations. He looked at her in astonishment. "Why do you care if I was dating Harry? Or snogging Harry? Or being with Harry in whatever way you think? Why does it matter to you who we decide to be with?" Harry coughed uncomfortably at her side, a light blush covering his cheeks.

"So, you are!"

"No, we're not! We're only friends, but it shouldn't matter to you if it were otherwise! You're with Lavender, remember?"

That shut him up. His mouth closed and he breathed angrily, looking between the two. "So, you're not together?"

"Go to hell, Ron!" And with that, Hermione stalked off, leaving the two to discuss matters further.

He had heard about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder many years ago in passing while his father chatted with his mother in the Malfoy Manor living room. His father talked poorly about a man who was plagued by sleepless nights, panic attacks, and excessively intrusive thoughts all leading back to the torture he had to endure. Over time, it slowly diminished, but the man was simply inferior for allowing such events to disrupt his daily life so dramatically; at least, in his father's eyes.

But that's just simply who his father is, isn't it? A man who blocks himself from understanding what others cannot control. Draco had no hold on when his body would betray him. If a strong enough level of fear washed over him, in a similar fashion as it does when he is attending Death Eater meetings, he found his body would just react. Although, it didn't happen much, when he did experience panic, it was quite hard to calm himself down – and when he wasn't experiencing panic, he was constantly living on the edge. In his dreams, he was constantly fighting off those anxieties just to give himself at most five hours of sleep. His father would have disowned him if he knew what Draco was going through just to fulfill a task assigned to him by the great Dark Lord.

But that was just it. Suddenly, everything was stopping him from becoming his father. His body was reacting against what he had witnessed, knowing he would never be the man his aunt Bellatrix and the rest of the Malfoy household had wanted him to be. Even just the concept of murdering Albus Dumbledore had left him mentally damaged. He wasn't meant to do the things others were demanding him to do – not if this was his reaction. Even just the word mudblood had stung his mouth too many times.

And he had almost called her that out loud.

He had called her that, at least in his mind. If he wanted his mother to make it out alive, he needed to stay away from Hermione Granger. She was suddenly there, in his life, every corner he had turned. And she had helped him, and he was conflicted. But he had no room to be conflicted. He needed to fulfill his task and get his family to safety, but he couldn't do that if his ideals were being tampered with by a Gryffindor girl in frumpy robes. He needed to focus.

But after that night, he couldn't. He couldn't focus on his food, he couldn't focus on his work, he couldn't focus on just about anything because as soon as she had appeared in his life she had left. She was avoiding him, clearly in response to his aggressive behaviour against her after she had helped him. She was avoiding him and he didn't like it. He was supposed to like it.

He needed her gone, yet he found himself wanting her presence.

And she was present, at least in his mind. She was in his dreams, stalking him as aggressively as she was avoiding him in reality. She was in his ears, his given name leaving her lips every moment he had seen her avoiding him in the halls. She was on his green couch, she was holding his books, and, for at least a moment, she was in his shower, too.

It was a night he had chosen to spend in the boathouse. He was awake at four fifty-seven in the morning and needed to chase away his demons quickly if he was going to get even two hours of sleep that night. And he was exhausted.

So, he stripped his clothes and got into the steaming hot shower. Once again, he felt his tense muscles relax. Maybe he was going to get some sleep tonight.

Then he looked down at himself, a look of pain appearing on his face. He had attempted, but failed, to provoke himself using his go-to thoughts of Parkinson's naked body, but that image hadn't stirred anything in him since summer and he was becoming unsettled about his lack of sexuality at the age of sixteen. Then he remembered a conversation he had only two weeks ago.

Theo's words on how he had recently jerked off four times in one day rang through Draco's mind and quickly scared his hand into wrapping around himself. At that moment, he felt as though he would give anything to think of something that would tantalize his arousal. He wasn't functioning as a teenage boy should, and he was scared.

He scanned his brain for something, anything to think about and suddenly, the same pair of eyes that had been haunting his dreams appeared. He had memorized them, at least after the most recent event. They weren't chocolate brown, he had realized. In the dark, yes, they had an almost milk-chocolatey look to them, but in that classroom, with the moon light hitting her face, he had realized her eyes were golden. They were golden.

He looked into her tear-filled eyes and something happened in him. He had trusted her. He felt safe in the comfort of her hands caressing his face. He felt safe holding the alarmingly cold ice that shocked his rigid body. He felt safe when the images had been chased away by her loving voice.

And suddenly, for the first time in almost five months, he felt himself release in that shower.

As much as he wanted to rejoice in his bodily functions, all this did was disturb him more. He didn't know what it meant. He didn't want it to mean anything. He didn't sleep at all that night.

A/N: Just letting you all know that I have already written up to chapter ten! If you want them posted faster, you have to review! We're already halfway there to fifty reviews – get me there and I will start posting twice a week!

NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW:

"Why?" She challenged, once more. He could feel her hot breath on his face. Never had any person spoken to a Malfoy man in such a way. He didn't know why he allowed it.

"Stay away from me, Granger." He warned a last time, opening his eyes to see her facing him, inches away from his own glare. His heart rate slowed. He felt like he was going to faint.

Love always, Elle – your author for this story.